


Stay In The Kitchen When The Kitchen Gets Hot

by pandon



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Multi, OT3, Peterick, chef!Patrick, pandon, supportive boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandon/pseuds/pandon
Summary: “You set the kitchen on fire?!”“Just a little, but it means we can start the remodeling sooner, right?”Drabble #3 of our Ot3 Drabble Collection





	Stay In The Kitchen When The Kitchen Gets Hot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bottombeeb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottombeeb/gifts).



> the title is probably from what you think it is and even I'm cringing and laughing about it

Patrick’s dreams of becoming an actual chef are nearer than ever before, what with his last two weeks of classes coming up and his second successful apprenticeship in the books. There’s only a few things in this world that he loves more than the scent filling the air when he’s chopping garlic, baking a stuffed Cornish hen, or making a new tomato sauce from scratch. Nights when he can go home and just be alone in his kitchen, however small it might be, are the ones where he finds the most peace. 

The rhythmic movement of mincing an onion or whisking a roux helps to ease the tension from his muscles and erase the stress of his day from his mind. Once he gets lost in creating a recipe, it’s like he’s in his own world. A world where he can create delicious, magical things with ease. A world where he’s a chef at a five-star restaurant in which even Gordon Ramsay would be breaking down the doors to dine.

Patrick loves everything about his life and there’s nothing he would trade or change outside of the very underwhelming kitchen that he works in at home. There’s everything he needs to get by, but so many appliances and square feet that could be added to make his dreams flourish. It’s not so tiny that he’s cramped in the space, but there’s certainly not enough room for the countless meals he makes for the local domestic abuse shelter’s monthly lunch or the hundreds of various goodies that he bakes for the girl and boy scout troops.

He has room to chop and peel, to rinse and scrub, but there’s only four burners on the stove when he’d really do better with eight. The refrigerator is fully packed each week until he thins it out, so it does its job, but when it’s time to cook for a crowd, he’s scrambling to see what can be tossed out or cooked immediately to make room. The pantry would be enough if they didn’t need their own every day foods to live or if  _ someone _ in the house actually ate real food instead of a diet of green tea Kit Kats and hot Cheetos. Not to mention the wall of Capri Sun in “the only flavor worth drinking” Pacific Cooler. He loves the way it feels like home, loves opening the cabinets and finding an ever-growing collection of green teas with little sticky notes on each one declaring something thoughtful or teasing. 

_ “thought you’d like something different”  _

_ “peach and pomegranate?! who comes up with these?”  _

_ “zen tea for my grump”  _

He shouldn’t complain and mostly, he doesn’t. Okay, maybe he does. But he can’t help it if a curse word (or a string of them) slips when he gets hot grease on his arm because he couldn’t get away from the pan fast enough when there’s all these things stacked around him! It’s not his fault! Where else is he going to put all of the ingredients he needs when there’s only enough counter space to hold what’s needed for a small meal? Yes, he’s stomped out of the kitchen, leaving his angry footprints in spilled flour more than once, only to make his way back a few moments and deep breaths later to find some helping hands cleaning the mess (after taking photos, of course).

Remodeling the kitchen is something that he’s dreamt of since the day they moved in, but it’s been four years now and they still haven’t been able to find the money or time to make it happen. The disappointment and impatience are there, the latter growing more with each day he gets closer to graduating, but there’s also the reality of their situation there to remind him of how lucky he is. He’s able to chase his dream without the worry of being evicted, of not having heat during winter, or the stress of working three jobs just to afford all of this food that he cooks. Not many people can say that their significant others are willing to work seventy hour weeks and take on extra jobs just to make sure the other can achieve their dreams. 

He is so lucky and so very loved, there’s no denying it. 

Which is something he’s having to remind himself right now as he steps into the remains of his kitchen. The walls are blackened, the cabinets that once held his collection of tea and love notes are nothing more than a heap of ashes and splinters, and his oven is now simply the bones of something that used to bake and broil. There’s two familiar faces there in the mess, covered in soot and bandages, looking nervous and almost...amused. Two heads full of disheveled brown hair and two pairs of soft brown eyes that have always reminded him of molten chocolate, though one could have a hint of honey in his if the lighting was right. Two idiots that he is going to kill now that he knows they're safe.

“You set the kitchen on fire?!”

Brendon glances over to Pete and chews his lower lip, shrugging before his eyes wander back to Patrick and his stupid  _ perfect _ mouth says, “Just a little.”

Patrick’s nostrils flare as he sets his jaw and looks around the room again. The microwave looks like it exploded, the fridge is making an odd buzzing noise that can’t be safe, and Pete is fucking  _ grinning. _

“But it means we can start the remodeling sooner, right?” is what spills out of the hole in his dumb  _ adorable _ face - the hole that rarely closes.

“What the hell happened?” his voice is harsher than it should be, but the words are already out of his mouth now and he can’t amend them.

Brendon is looking at him through his lashes, tugging at the hem of his shirt, Pete is still grinning, and Patrick is frowning as he stands still in the middle of what looks like some extreme cooking competition gone horribly wrong. After a few moments of really taking in the remnants of the stove and the counters, he realizes.  _ They _ were cooking for  _ him _ , because today is a special day and he completely fucking forgot. He was too worried about passing his tests today, about perfecting his paella, about getting home to destress in the kitchen. 

“Happy Anniversary,” Brendon says softly, nodding to Pete, who steps forward and offers Patrick a slip of paper that looks suspiciously like… a check?

“We were gonna surprise you with this. It’s enough money to start the remodeling. It was supposed to be the big finale, the cherry on top after we made you the best dinner you’d ever tasted in your whole life, but uh,” Pete pauses, scratching at the back of his neck as Patrick takes the check. 

“But we obviously aren’t chefs,” Brendon adds with a grin of his own.

Patrick stares down at the check in his hand, at the promise of the kitchen of his dreams, at the hard work, the endless hours of overtime, the things they’ve given up to add money to an account he now knows they’ve been putting money in for the whole time they’ve lived here. The little slip of paper with Pete’s scrawl on it is proof of just how lucky, how loved he truly is. There aren’t really any words he can say to thank them, no act he could ever perform to repay them for the sacrifices they’ve made for him. There’s not enough time in the world to show them how much he loves them in return. He opts for a truce, forgiveness for nearly burning the house down. 

“No, you aren’t,” he says with a warm smile, eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. “But you order a mean pizza.”

  
  
  



End file.
